


rest

by greymadder (whatisausername)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Rivalry, Slight implied Iwaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatisausername/pseuds/greymadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Y-you take a day off during the week?! That’s such a waste!” Tobio stared at him incredulously, mouth hanging open as his fingers twitched at his sides, involuntarily grasping for an explanation in the wake of his disbelief. </p><p>In the span of a single second–no, in less than a second, a mere blip of a moment–Tooru felt the pieces come apart like a stab of something sharp into his stomach.<br/>---</p><p>((Basically just exploration of Oikawa Tooru as a character, as well as the Oikawa/Kageyama rivalry.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	rest

“Y-you take a day off during the week?! That’s such a waste!”

Tobio stared at him incredulously, mouth hanging open as his fingers twitched at his sides, involuntarily grasping for an explanation in the wake of his disbelief. 

In the span of a single second–no, in less than a second, a mere blip of a moment–Tooru felt the pieces come apart like a stab of something sharp into his stomach.

-

-

He remembered staying late after practice one night during his second year. He remembered how he was faintly aware of a sensation in his right knee, something he didn’t recognize as  _pain_ until a few seconds later. He swiped the ball from the ground, and got into position. 

 _Toss. Step, step. Jump. **Slam**_ **.**  

Usually, he would gauge the success of a jump-serve by the whoosh of air past his face, of his arm cutting through the wind and of the satisfying smack of his hand against the ball that would send it flying across the gym. When a serve was good, Tooru  _felt_ it, yet all he felt now was white-hot pain shooting through his right leg like lightning, and his knees buckling the second his feet were back on the ground. The rest of his body had followed, until he was a crumpled heap on the floor, paralyzed with pain and fear.

He remembered hiding it until he couldn’t anymore, spilling his cup of hot coffee all over Hajime in the middle of the shop as his knee collapsed beneath him once more. His face had burned in shame as his best friend’s anger had disappeared instantly when he saw Tooru was  _hurting_ , and he recalled the prickling of wet heat in the corners of his eyes as he was  _dragged_ home. 

Hajime never once asked him for an explanation, probably because he already knew. Of course he did, Tooru thought, remembering the way his best friend’s head had crashed against his own, and the resulting bloody nose. Hajime didn’t yell at him this time, only pushed him inside his door, staring with a stern face and clothes still soaked in coffee as he ordered Tooru to tell his mother  _immediately, or else Hajime would do it for him._

He remembered shocked parents, and a tense trip to the doctor. When he explained the nature of his injury to the doctor, told her that he was the  _ace_  setter at Aoba Johsai and that he planned to pursue volleyball past high school, he saw the look of pity that flashed in her eyes. Everyone had been quiet, because they all knew what was on the line for Tooru.

He remembered Takeru being oddly sweet and entertaining him with a game of cards (probably at his mother’s suggestion). Hajime had shown up by his bed with a gift from the rest of the team. Tooru set his cards off to the side, as his best friend plopped a fresh loaf of milk bread onto his lap followed by half a dozen envelopes and a small bag of cookies. The milk bread and two of the letters were from the team, Hajime explained. The rest of them were things that had been taped to his locker. Tooru moved the latter out of the way in favor of the gift from his team, and as he opened their letters, he remembered shooing Takeru out of the room as tears started to spill down his cheeks. The first letter was a hand-written one from Coach Irihata and Coach Mizoguchi; the second was from the rest of the team–your typical ‘get well soon’ card, complete with various gel-pen doodles and a few stickers.

He remembered the warmth of Hajime’s hand on his quaking shoulder as his tears of flattered joy quickly devolved into a mess of shame and fearful, despondent sobs.  

He remembered the follow-up at the doctor’s office, the same doctor, looking at him sternly as she delivered her full report. Tooru wasn’t prepared for but expected the worst, to be told he couldn’t ever play volleyball again. Saying he didn’t know what he’d do if that were the case was an understatement…

…but luckily he never had to find out. The doctor’s stern look softened into a pleasant smile, her lips curling at the corners as she told him that with minor physical therapy, and caution, his knee wouldn’t be causing him too much grief in the future if he allowed it to heal properly.

Tooru had cried again, but this time the joy didn’t turn into ugly cries of pain–it only faded into a pleasant white noise, a warmth that remained in the pit of his stomach and lit up his features with relief. He overheard his mother later that night, commenting to his father that Tooru looked  _alive_ , for the first time since the injury. She was smiling, and he was too. 

He remembered the day his family had surprised him with a visit to Tokyo, to see a college volleyball match at one of the big universities. As they stepped off the train, he heard a shocked cry from behind him. Tooru whirled around, and was met with the sight of a girl on crutches as she tripped and was sent sprawling forward. The brief moment their eyes locked felt like an eternity, Tooru blankly staring as an older woman–her mother, probably–gasped and bent down to collect the helpless girl. A tug on his sleeve from Takeru made Tooru glance away for a second, and that was all it took for the scene to be swallowed up by the throngs of people bustling through the station.

He’d managed to block it out and enjoy the majority of the day, until he returned home and dumped his things onto the floor. As he shut the door, the scene flashed to the front of his mind, this time with him taking the place of girl. The thought sent him into a fit of full-blown panic as he collapsed onto his bed in a mess of cold-sweats and shaky breaths as he thought about what could have been.

-

-

The knife twisted. 

Finally, he remembered the nightmare he’d had. In a dark room, he stood in a shaft of light across from someone. He couldn’t tell if the person was near or far, nor could he make out their face. Tooru looked down at himself, his fingers brushing against the lush, velvety fabric draped around his shoulders. Feeling a weight on his head, he brought his hand up and felt something heavy and metallic. He didn’t have to look to know what it was–a grand crown for a grand king, of course. 

He glanced up, and his heart leapt into his throat as the figure seemed to be dashing towards him now. He barely had time to register who it was before they were standing right before him.

 It was Kageyama Tobio, towering several centimeters taller than him. With a triumphant smirk, Tobio reached forward and snatched the crown from Tooru’s head, placing it on his own. Tooru recoiled, but as he stepped back, his foot failed to find purchase against the ground. Instead he lurched back, as if the floor had suddenly disappeared everywhere but the beam of light in which they both stood. It wasn’t enough room for the both of them, and Tobio was stepping closer, and Tooru was slipping,  _he was going to_   _fall_ – 

A hand fisted in the velvety fabric he was draped in, as another came up, trailing across the elegant fur trim and stopping over the golden clasp that fastened it around Tooru’s shoulders. Tooru shouted something as a mix of fear, indignation, and a violent jealousy rushed to fill every crevice of his insides. It fell on deaf ears, Tobio unlatching the clasp and tearing the cloak from the other boy’s shoulders and sending Tooru tumbling back into dark oblivion.

As he fell, the last thing Tooru saw was Tobio throwing the gaudy garment around his own shoulders, and turning his face to the ceiling to bask in the light that shone brilliantly down.

Tooru awoke with a start, his body trembling and sweating and twisted up in his bedsheets. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed his fear to calm himself down, and steeled his resolve to never let his nightmares become a reality. 

When he returned to practice, no one said a thing about the frighteningly calm, focused look in Tooru’s eyes the first time he slammed the ball with more power and accuracy than he ever had before. No one said a thing as he did it again and again, leaving everyone stunned as to how the hell he was doing so well after such a hiatus. When Coach Irihata came and rested a hand on Tooru’s shoulder, telling him he had done well, and to take the rest of the day off, a tense silence filled the gym like stifling smoke. 

It wasn’t until Tooru smiled a genuine, calm smile and nodded reluctantly, that everyone released the breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. 

-

-

Gathering himself, Tooru quickly pushed the pieces back together.

He blinked, looking down at Tobio from the bridge of his nose as he swallowed the reaction of disdain that immediately arose like a bitter taste in his mouth. Of course Tobio didn’t understand–hadn’t ever had a chance to understand the way Tooru understood. 

“Resting and skipping are two different things, Tobio-chan.” Tooru came quietly, brushing past the boy. He wouldn’t explain things more than that, because he knew there was no way to really  _make_ him understand save through firsthand experience–and that was something Tooru wouldn’t ever wish upon anyone.

Not even Tobio.


End file.
